Prophesied
by MagicGirl41
Summary: Twenty years after the Great Purge Uther Pendragon is desperate for the location of the magic users that fled his realms, and when his son Arthur captures Merlin Emrys, a prince of New Avalon, it looks like the king will get just that. But can a friendship struck between enemy princes change everything? Merlin/Arthur bromance, Prince! Merlin, Freylin, Arwen, whump.
1. Prologue

A/N: Hey y'all! Long time no see ^.^ It's been a rough year for me, and so I haven't been updating . . . anything, really_ but that's all going to change_! I've got a bunch of new one-shots in the works, and two new stories that I'm going to be updating through the summer! I created this story for The Heart of Camelot's 'Chronicles' Challenge, and although I didn't finish in time, it's still been really fun to write. Since I haven't finished in time I'll be able to focus on this story as well as my other story, which is going to be a Loki and Tony-centric (although not slashy!) Avengers Highschool AU and I'm SO pumped about it. That's about it on updates. I hope you like Prophesied!

This is basically my own little AU in which Balinor/a ton of dragonlords and priestesses survive the purge, Merlin gets to be a prince, he and Arthur meet as enemies, and whumpy/angsty/bromancy shenanigans ensue. But first, my monster prologue! A little advice: never try to write a pre-purge prologue, it will suck you in, and then you'll end up writing two thousand more words than you meant to. I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_.

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_P. r. o. p. h. e. s. i. e. d._

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_P. r. o. l. o. g. u. e._

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"As your King, Nimueh I command you to—"

"_No_, Uther I will not."

The brown haired man ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath; his court sorceress stood by the window, watching the children play in the courtyard and dreading what would come next. Her hand tightened to a fist. Uther Pendragon's voice was barely a whisper. "Please Nimueh . . . as your friend, I _beg_ you to give us a son. _Please_." The King never begged. Nimueh sighed in exhaustion and gestured for her King to leave. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, and slumped dejectedly away.

"Uther." He turned, hope sparkling in his eyes. "Do not come to me with this again."

The door slammed on his way out.

Nimueh's hand was shaking when she held it up to the light. Blood trickled down her palm and she cursed, moving to her drawers to find some linen. Her hands shook as she dressed the wound. The children's laughter echoed in from outside, and Nimueh's mirror cracked.

-:-

Uther stormed into the physician's chambers, his anger practically rolling off his shoulders in waves. Gaius glanced up from his work, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes sire?"

Uther glared at him. "Don't _sire_ me, Gauis!"

"Yes sire."

"_Gaius_ . . ."

The healer laughed. "Take a seat, Uther." Uther slumped down in one of the workbenches. "Now," Gaius put down his potion. "What's wrong?"

Uther tried to glare at his friend, then sighed, and his great demeanor crumbled. He rubbed his face. "It's Nimueh. She won't perform the spell to give I'graine a child." His voice cracked. "What am I going to do, Gaius? Our enemies attack constantly, and although our forces are strong, without an heir, if I'graine and I are killed or taken, Camelot will—" Gaius raised a hand and Uther broke off, eyes sparkling with tears. The physician walked over and sat next to his friend, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder. Uther looked up, pure misery on his face, and locked eyes with Gaius. Gaius sighed.

"For my own part, I don't think that it's a good idea either. For there to be a life, there must be a death, and the magic itself is so unstable, even if someone volunteered I doubt that it would be guaranteed that they would be the one to die." Gaius's gaze held such an intensity that Uther almost wished to turn away. Only stubbornness let him persist.

"You have to talk to her," Uther pleaded. "She'll listen to you. Camelot _must_ have an heir!" The hurt on Uther's face was evident now, and Gaius rued the day he ever took vows for such a stubborn king. "Do it for our people, if not for me."

"It's not that simple, Uther," Gaius warned. "Consider the consequences. Are you willing to do this? Are you willing to make that kind of sacrifice—to take the life of a mother, a brother, a friend? It might be a beloved grandmother in the lower town, it could be a manservant working for a visiting noble—it could even be you. Are you willing to take that kind of risk? To bare that guilt?" Uther looked away. He was silent. After a few minutes Gaius, satisfied, got up and went back to his work.

"Yes."

Gaius froze. He turned, his eyes betraying his shock. "What?"

Uther looked up, wearing what I'graine called his 'Kingly mask'. "Yes, I will take that risk. If not for me, then for the good of the Kingdom. My child will rule Camelot. Unfortunately his life is more important then that of a regular man. He must come first."

Gaius stared in shock at Uther, so cold, so different from the man he knew. Every cell in Gaius screamed in revulsion but he could not betray his King. Besides, it was _Uther_. This feeling, this deepness in the pit of his stomach, it was wrong. Gaius forced his mouth to open, forced out the words that his heart begged him not to say. When he finally did, it was barely a whisper.

"Okay. I'll talk to her."

Uther's mask melted into a grin, and he clapped Gaius on the shoulder. "Thank you, my friend." The King of Camelot practically bounced out of the physician's room, but his friend dropped down on the bench, unable to shake the feeling of foreboding building up inside of him.

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Nimueh walked softly, trying to sort through the mess inside her head. She was a High Priestess of the Old Religion, she was supposed to be unshakable—it was the only way for her to protect her people—but this affair was shaking her. She remembered the deadness in I'graine's eyes when Gaius pronounced the queen barren, the hurt in Uther's when she refused to cast the spell—a hurt that was quick to anger, and an anger that was quick to rage. Her monarchs, her _friends_ . . . but she knew that it was beyond futile, beyond forbidden. Nothing good could come of this spell; it was the kind of spell that doomed not only the caster, but everyone involved. Retribution might not come immediately, but it _would_ come—in bitter lives and bloody ends. She had seen it time and time again. Nimueh didn't care so much who died to create the child, but rather what the consequences of such a life would be. But it would not happen; of this she was—regrettably—certain.

Nimueh paused by I'graine's room. Muffled sobbing was barely audible through the great wooden door. Nimeuh knew of I'graine's tendency to cry when no one else could hear, and the priestess's soul ached. She turned away with a heavy heart and walked slowly back to her chambers, her chest burning with every step.

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Gaius paused outside Nimueh's door, face concealed by shadows. He raised his hand to the door, hesitated, and then knocked.

"I know why you're here, Gaius." Gaius sighed and walked in. In front of him was a beautiful woman, twenty at most, but Gaius knew the truth—she was far older than he. Nimueh had at least a hundred years on his mere thirty-five. And yet here she was, a great priestess, curled up on the floor, staring listlessly at the wall. Nimueh was dressed in nothing but her underdress, not even bothering to conceal the scars and markings she normally kept hidden. Many men would run in fear at the puckering of skin, wince at the burns and crisscross white lines, and frown at the tattoos weaving across her body. But Gaius knew Nimueh far too well to be afraid, so he strode across the room without permission and sat down next to the priestess.

She didn't look up. "I won't do it, you know. Your love for Uther has blinded you to the foolery of consenting."

"And your love for I'graine has hurt you dearly in refusing."

Nimueh eyes met his own, all storm and power and greatness. Gaius often wondered if she got tossed in her storms, found herself lost in her own power. "I will not do it. The spell they ask of me only breeds sorrow. I have seen it again and again."

Gaius laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. "But this time will be different. The prophecies have spoken of Uther's son—"

"—You can not be certain that the child will be a boy—"

"—Yes I can. The Once and Future King, the one who will unite Avalon and bring peace to all the people, those of magic and those without—"

"—_And there lies the problem!"_ Nimueh shouted as she shot up, eyes flashing. Thunder rumbled in the background. "There is nothing wrong with the Kingdom! Magic is not banned here as it is in Mercia, and for the most part, the people are happy! Uther is a good King, so I don't see why—"

"—And what of the Saxons, Nimueh? What of the users of black magic, and the enemies pushing at our gates? How will you protect Camelot then, when Uther's body lies on the ground with no son to follow him?"

"Oh you are so quick to speak of enemies," Nimueh scoffed. "You follow in Uther's shadow far too much, Gaius. You see enemies where there are none."

"And you do not see suffering where there is much." A silence fell upon the pair. Finally Gaius let loose a deep sigh, filled with a long annoyance towards prideful superiors. He stood slowly, refusing eye contact with the priestess. "Very well Nimueh. I will not ask again." She smiled, true relief on her features. "But when the walls of this kingdom come crumbling around you," his eyes flickered to hers. "Do not forget why." Gaius left as he came, without permission, seeking nothing, leaving Nimueh frozen where she stood. She thought of curses and fire and hurt and consequences and she reminded herself _why_, but it didn't stop the storm outside from raging on.

-:-

Uther Pendragon walked into his chambers completely exhausted. The council meeting had been long and tiresome, and all he wanted to do was to drop into a deep sleep. But as soon as he entered his room he knew that he wouldn't be resting anytime soon. On the floor was a shattered bottle, the remaining liquid inside staining the wood floor. On the bed was I'graine, tears flowing freely down her face.

Uther hurried to his wife, embracing her from behind, letting her turn into him and cling so hard that it hurt. He whispered soft nothings to her, rocking her gently as she cried, kissing the tears from her face. It took a while for her to calm, but she finally did, and Uther was able to pull them both down into a more comfortable position. I'graine lay miserably on his chest, eyes still swollen and raw. Uther knew that potion—it was the one she had been asking Gaius for again and again, putting a little less hope into each attempt, getting her heart broken a little more each time. I'griane, just like her husband, would not stop hoping for a child, but unlike her husband, she was still hoping that pregnancy would come upon her like other woman. Uther knew that the only way for her to bear a child was for a spell to be cast, but it had been almost a month since Gaius talked to Nimueh and Uther was running low on hope.

Igraine turned towards him, choking on sobs. "Is there any hope, Uther?" He tried to shush her but she shook him off. "No! I am barren. There is n-nothing we can do . . . nothing at all."

"There are some things," Uther began, but I'graine shook her head.

"No, we can't ask Nimueh anymore, she's been walking around lately like the fate of the kingdom is on her shoulders." _It is_, Uther thought grimly. "And besides, it's not natural, a spell like that. We'll just . . . we'll just . . ."

"We could always adopt," Uther offered, a pasted smile on his face, and miraculously I'graine laughed.

"Ah, well, Vivienne's with child, we could always steal hers." Uther's stomach dropped. "Uther?" I'graine frowned. "Uther, what's wrong?"

He smiled. "Nothing, it's nothing." He hoped so, anyway.

-:-

What was she doing? Only three months ago she had sworn off this spell, and now here she was, putting on the finishing touches. She could still turn back now, Nimueh thought, holding her potion over the cup of life.

No she couldn't.

Nimueh couldn't bare it anymore. She couldn't watch I'graine suffer, couldn't watch Uther hate her. Sometimes he was so angry that she thought he would banish her on the spot, but then he would sigh and she would make him promise to stop asking. He came back though, time and time again. Gaius had kept true to his promise and never pushed her on the subject, but Nimueh could feel his disappointment. Almost two hundred years and she was still weak. The potion splattered onto the cup, and Nimueh lifted it with shaking hands.

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Nimueh fell back, completely spent. Her eyes flashed gold one last time, and she breathed the final spell. I'graine's back arched, and the woman screamed.

The next few hours were a blur, as Alice and her midwives rushed around the room in preparation for the royal baby. Hunith and Nimueh held I'graine's hand, and as the Queen screamed and panted Uther paced anxiously outside. Finally the crying of a child filled the room, and Nimueh's eyes sparkled with tears and I'graine held the child she had wanted for so long. I'graine smiled and offered him to the priestess, who took him into her arms happily.

But as she took the boy all feelings of joy dissipated. A chill shot up Nimueh's spine. In horror, she looked down at the young Pendragon, who smiled up at her, blinking his bright blue eyes in wonder. She looked into those beautiful eyes, so innocent, so young, and she _saw_. She saw the future he would build, the man he would become. She saw a mighty, golden haired King leading all of Albion into a glorious future, with Emrys riding at his side. She saw peace and happiness—a Utopia in every sense of the word. But with horror seeping through her she saw the past that would lead up to his rule. She saw blood and screams and burning children and the great and kind Uther Pendragon with the face of the devil. Distantly Nimueh heard her name, and the vision shattered. She became aware of how hard she was shaking, and her face was wet. _Tears_. She hadn't wept since she was a babe. Her eyes met her friend's.

I'graine smile weakened slightly. "Is . . . is everything all right Nimueh?" There was so much hope in the woman's face, and Nimueh's own tongue went numb.

"N-no, everything's . . . everything's . . ." Gently, Alice took the young Pendragon from Nimueh's arms and carried him outside, where Uther received his son with tears and cries of joy. "Everything's fine." I'graine smiled, but quickly broke off into a fit of coughing. Nimueh collapsed into a chair. Outside Uther praised the gods over and over, kissing his son on the forehead.

There was a scream. Nimueh shot up and she wished that she could take it all back—saying yes to Uther, the months of research—but it was too late. She had doomed them all.

Uther appeared in the doorway, his son in his arms, his brow creased with worry. "I'graine?"

-:-

"Balinor!" He should have expected Nimueh, he really should've, but with I'graine only a month in the grave he'd hoped the priestess would wait a little longer. She had been growing more and more anxious the longer he remained in Camelot, and Balinor was sure that she'd want her captain of the dragonlords back on the border as soon as possible. But with the dark times they were all in he wanted to remain in his home, with Hunith by his side. He had hoped to take her to the border this time, to take her as his wife, but with Arthur's birth passing from a time of joy to a time of sorrow within minutes he hadn't asked yet. Soon.

Balinor turned. "Nimueh." The sorceress acknowledged him with a quick nod. "I won't pretend that I don't know your purpose in coming."

Nimueh stepped closer. "I need you to leave. Now."

He sighed. "Nimueh, I don't think—"

"—You don't understand!" Nimueh ran a hand through her hair and it was just then that Balinor noticed how tangled it was, and the depth of the shadows below her eyes. "It's imperative that you go. You and Hunith, and all of your riders!"

"_All of the riders?!_ But the city's defenses—"

"—Will be gone anyway when Uther sentences you all to death!"

Balinor stared at her in shock. "What?"

"You _have_ to leave," Nimueh pleaded. "You haven't heard him these past few days. He's been driving himself insane—talking of enemies in the shadows, going mad with grief. He looks at me like he would look at the devil." She laughed bitterly. "He's banished me."

"What?! Why?!"

Nimueh sighed, and pity flooded Balinor for the sorrow in her eyes. "He blames me for his wife's death. But not just me, Balinor—he blames all of magic. He's starting with the more aggressive tribes but I know it will be us soon. The more he destroys the madder he'll become. I've _seen_ it." Her eyes caught his, and he felt himself drowning in the urgency of her gaze, in the madness of her words. "I'm gathering the priestesses and taking them far away from here. I'll warn the druids on my way, and then return to make sure that others can escape."

Balinor's head was spinning. He heard his voice, distant, asking where they would even go.

"The fisher king's lands, although treacherous, are survivable with magic. The castle within, and the area surrounding it, could be enchanted to be lush and beautiful, and the dangers of the perilous lands would protect it." Nimueh's voice took on a level of desperation that he thought he would never hear. "_Please_, Balinor. It would be torture to watch you and Hunith perish." Balinor felt his ears ringing. His stomach churned, and shock filled his veins with ice.

_Two boys ran though the woods, side by side, one dark haired and one light. The golden haired boy laughed and turned to his friend._

"_Apples, Bali?" The dark haired boy turned to where his friend was pointing and grinned. His eyes burned gold._

No, not Uther. He wouldn't do it, he couldn't.

"Take your priestesses and go Nimueh, but I will not abandon him." Balinor turned to leave but Nimueh's hand shot out. Her nails dug into his arm.

"Consider what I've said Balinor, and come to me if you change your mind. I can not force you to go, but I will go to the others if you do not." Her hand let go. He turned to face her but she was gone.

-:-

Balinor woke to shouting. Drearily he wondered why the guards were barking orders. There was an odd smell in the air, a sickening odor that he couldn't quite place. Something in his gut churned and he barely got to the bucket before he was emptying the contents of his stomach. Wiping his mouth, he got up slowly. The shouting had stopped, and screaming had started—long, drawn out wails of pure torture. Balinor ran to find Uther.

When he tore out onto the balcony Balinor thought he was dreaming. It took a moment of shock before he could take it in—the stakes, the men, screaming; the women, begging for their husbands. And then, a little farther away . . . the children, four to a stake. Fire licked at a sobbing woman's feet. Numb with horror, Balinor turned to his left to see Uther overseeing it all, his expression purposeful and alien. He turned to Balinor . . . and he smiled.

"Uther," Balinor's voice cracked. "What is the meaning of this?"

Uther's face darkened and he turned away. "They have betrayed me Uther. They all turned on me, just like Nimueh. There is only one penalty for treason."

"But the _children_, Uther!" In his mind's eye a lively boy laughed beside Balinor, and tossed an apple his way.

"Soon they would grow to be like their parents, traitors, all of them." Uther's eyes flashed with madness. "Magic will corrupt them, and then they too will turn against me. I will _not_ let it happen." The apple fell between the two boys, and the dark haired boy reached out to take it. His friend grinned.

The soldiers set fire to the children, and Balinor made his choice.

-:-

Please review!


	2. Ch 1- Separate Worlds

A/N: Okay, so this is probably the largest chapter I'm going to post. Or maybe not. Who knows! There was definitely a point where I _could_ have broken it up, but then I thought what the hell, might as well post it. Just don't expect anything this long in a while, especially since I'm having extreme writer's block on this story (not with the next chapter, since that's already written, but with the chapter after that.) Oh yeah, probably should mention—the next update or so are going to be pretty quick, since I already have them written, but things are going to slow down after that. I'll try not to keep you guys waiting for _too_ long, though ;) So! Without any more ado, here's chapter one!

Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_

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_P.r.o.p.h.e.s.i.e.d._

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_C.h.a.p.t.e.r..O.n.e_

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A flash of fire streaked across the darkening sky, and the twisted creature shrieked in agony as its life was torn from its body. One of its companions bared its spiked teeth and prepared to spring, ready to tear the flesh off of its target. Before it even had the chance to even twitch, it was impaled from behind. The creature looked down at the sword protruding from its chest, screamed in rage, and toppled to the red-streaked earth. Soon the plain was filled with war cries and shouts of agony, full of dark creatures falling at the hands of a band of warriors bearing azure cloaks. Another eruption of fire wiped out three monsters and a raven-haired man burst into the clearing, blue eyes blazing. He dispatched two more with a glowing sword, and then raised his head to the heavens, an inhuman scream tearing from his throat. His companions rolled out of the way just as lightning came crashing down on the clearing, destroying the remaining monsters. The man stood for a moment, proud and tall, watching the ashes fly away on the wind. "We'll break here for today." Then he began to teeter back and forth, and a knight rushed forward, catching him just before he fell.

The older man moved the warlock's arm around his own shoulders. "Damn it, Merlin! Was the lightning really necessary?"

The boy cracked a tired smile. "Give me a moment and I'll be fine."

"I've seen you use that spell before, my friend, and you really shouldn't. It takes a lot out of you."

"Ah, give him a break Lance, we've been at it all day." The speaker, a large burly man with a hearty grin, clapped his fellow knight on the shoulder.

Lancelot frowned. "At least rest for a while, Merlin."

The young man laughed. "Yes, I'll _try_ to rest. And then I'll be up again in ten minutes because you burly knights can't get enough of my stew."

"Well we can go without it today. For now you need—"

"Are you going to put mushrooms in it?" The larger knight's face was one of pure excitement.

Merlin smiled. "Sure, Perce, if we can find some. I'll need some wild roots that you boys can go get . . ." Lancelot protested in vain as Percival transferred Merlin from Lancelot's shoulder to his own. The knight watched them walk away, talking and laughing as if the prince hadn't been about to keel over two minutes ago. Lancelot sent a quick prayer to whatever deity gave him the strength to put up with these two.

"Unbelievable."

-:-

There was a moment between his sword imbedding itself in the child's chest and him pulling it out again when Arthur Pendragon began to hate himself. It wasn't as if he hadn't done this a million times before—one hunt after another, sorcerers being burnt and tortured and slain—but he had always hated killing the children, and there was something in the innocent _terror _in this girl's eyes, in the courageous spark of rebellion, that reminded him of Morgana when she was small. He killed her anyway and he hated himself for it. Even before she hit the ground regret seeped into his veins like a wildfire, and he clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. Arthur knelt before the dying child and tried to stabilize his breathing, calm his pounding heart.

_In. Out. In. Out._

_Honor and loyalty before mercy. Sorcery is sin, and sin is displeasing to God._

_In. Out._

_Kill the adults before they kill you, kill the children before they grow up._

_In. Out._

_Their blood is your redemption. Their death is Camelot's cleansing. _

_In. Out. _

The shouts from outside pierced Arthur's meditation. He stood up, surveyed the bloodied corpse, and left the hut behind him.

Outside, the men were throwing bodies into a pile to burn. Their twisted laughter hit his ears in a way that it never had before—piercing, painful, almost unwelcome. And yet he had also stood with them, laughing as he dishonored the dead. Arthur had been filled with such hatred, with such loathing, that the death of his enemies had filled him with such a strong. . . such a strong . . .

Satisfaction. That was the word. A purposeful, grim satisfaction at seeing his sword purified in his enemies' blood. Flanked by flame, the crimson prince stood, cape billowing, watching his knights pile up the fallen into bloody, mangled piles of burning flesh.

_Red, everything red.__  
_  
Uther trudged up the hill, his face aglow with victory, and clapped a hand on his son's shoulder. Arthur flinched at the touch; Uther didn't seem to notice.

"You did well today," Uther praised, gazing lovingly across the battlefield. "You have shown that you will make a great king." The old monarch's face was set in a empirical frown, one that had haunted Arthur since his youth. He couldn't remember seeing his father any other way. "A King must be strong, even brutal, if he is to control his people. Our enemies are everywhere, Arthur. We must be vigilant at all times." Uther eyed his son with a critical eye. "Always remember this." The prince felt the waves of uneasiness settle under his father's gaze, and his eyes hardened as he remembered his purpose.

He nodded. "Yes father." Uther smiled and walked away. Arthur made to follow, but froze, seeing a man laugh as he tossed a child's corpse into the blaze. Despite himself, he felt a shiver run down his spine.

-:-

The wind began to pick up, and Merlin Emrys felt a rush of exhilarated joy. He dug into Mab's sides and she broke into a gallop, leaving the exasperated shouts of his men behind. The closer they got to the ridge the more Merlin's excitement built until with a cry of joy he laid eyes upon his city.

New Avalon. Home to magic folk and magic less alike, founded by the refugees of Uther's purge, established in the one beautiful area of the perilous lands, surrounded by an entire Kingdom of un-breachable defenses. And the most wonderful place on earth.

The others were finally catching up to him; he heard their panting as they drew closer. Merlin looked up just as Lancelot cleared the ridge.

The knight's eyes shined with happiness. "We're home."

Merlin laughed. "That we are."

It was an ancient tradition for the people of Camelot to toss flowers at their returning warriors when they came back victorious from a long battle. It held the symbolism of new life, of joy, and of hope. The people of New Avalon were no longer part of Camelot, but the blood ran in their veins, and some traditions were too old to erase. Merlin waved to the cheering citizens, laughing as they cheered, and bowing his head so a girl on her father's shoulders could adorn his crown with a garland. "Thank you," he uttered, and the girl giggled and turned her face to her father's chest. The tall man nodded in thanks and Merlin returned the gesture, smiling one more time at the girl before moving on down the parade.

As they neared the main castle the crowds began to fade. The group entered the courtyard and Merlin slowed, seeing the figure waiting for them. A beautiful woman stood at the top of the steps, her brown eyes shining, her dark hair falling in waves around her shoulders. Dazed, the prince swung himself off his horse and handed the reins to the stable boy, never taking his eyes off of the lady. The knights chuckled, but Merlin hardly noticed, for he was already running, and she was running, and they met in the middle, crying a little, laughing more, clinging to each other. Merlin threw his head back in joy and swung her around in his arms, causing his beloved to squeal in happy surprise. As Merlin lowered his lady to her feet, she smiled and kissed him gently on the cheek. He caught her chin and kissed her deeply, pulling her close to him. She moaned a little and drew a hand through his locks, allowing the kiss to deepen.

A wolf-whistle broke the two apart, and they turned to see the party of knights grinning up at them. Merlin's ears turned as red as his lady's dress, and he glared at Lancelot as the knight made his way up the steps.

He took the lady's hand, planting a kiss on it. "Lady Freya."

She smiled. "Sir Lancelot." There was a moment of silence before the two burst into laughter, all decorum dissolving. Freya linked her arms though Merlin and Lancelot's, waiting for Percival to catch up before leading the men into the castle. "So tell me of the hunt! I heard that there were several bands of griffons haunting the borders, but one does learn not to lend out trust to drunk aristocrats." The three men launched into an exaggerated tale of bravery and valor, and their lady's laughter echoed throughout the castle.

-:-

Flowers. Every time he returned the people would throw them—flowers in all shapes and sizes, in all kinds of colors. Arthur took them with grace, but his stomach churned and he wondered if maybe, in the very beginning, the flowers had been thrown for the dead and not the living—for the soldiers who would never come home, not the survivors that did. He thought of the burning pile of corpses that they left at the village and immediately wished he hadn't. Leon shot him a worried look and Arthur realized that he must have been frowning. He tried to shake it off. That was not something he should be doing in front of his people—especially since today was a cause for celebration. Arthur pasted a smile on his face and waved to the crowds.

It took the party a while to pass through the streets; to Arthur it felt like an eternity. He slid off his horse and allowed it a stable boy to take her away, and when George rushed forward to take Arthur's gear the prince barely noticed his presence. "You seem a little off today." Arthur looked up to see a tall knight standing near him. The man's azure eyes, normally alive with laughter, were now darkened with worry.

Arthur pulled off his other riding glove and handed it to George. "No more than usual, Kay." He saw the frown on Kay's face and knew that he wouldn't be able to leave it at that. "Just tired, that's all."

Kay clapped him on the shoulder. "At least we're back then, and you'll be able to sleep in a real bed. God knows that it's been a while."

"And you would have us out there still."

Kay smiled. "I do love the forest at my back and the stars up ahead when I sleep, you're right. But there's far more in Camelot than beds. We'll be training the squires soon." Arthur fell into step with Kay as they crossed the courtyard. As they neared the steps a beautiful maid emerged from the castle, carrying a basket of clothes over one perfectly shaped hip. Arthur's mouth seemed suddenly dry, and as she offered a shy smile while walking past, he found himself turning to follow her path down the steps. Behind him he heard Kay chuckle. "Well, there's that as well."

Arthur immediately spun around. "We're not—I mean I'm not—"

Kay cut off the stammering prince with a friendly clap on the shoulder. "_Relax_, Arthur. I don't see Uther standing anywhere nearby. You're fine." His smiled faded slightly and he watched Gwen walk away. "He would be a fool not to approve of your choice. She's a fine girl."

"You know my father's laws."

Kay sighed, and wrapped his arm around the younger man's shoulders, guiding him up the stairs. "That I do. And I've not been too thrilled with them recently. I understand protecting the Kingdom, but what we did back there?" Kay shook his head, eyes dark and haunted. "That was manslaughter. Innocent woman and children dead, for no reason."

"But they would grow up to be killers themselves," Arthur argued. "Killing them now only saves lives." He could hear the weakness in his argument, and was not surprised to see disappointment flash in Kay's eyes.

"Come now," the other man said. "Do you really believe everything your father tells you? Or has all of Leon and my lessons been in vain?"

Arthur looked up at the man he considered mentor and brother. In his childhood Uther had always been too busy to deal with a young boy, and so Kay and Leon, along with Gaius, had taken over Arthur's upbringing. Arthur had spent many a day hiding under a workbench with the two squires, giggling while Gaius raged at their foolishness. Those days would always end with the four of them sitting around Gaius's old table, laughing and pretending to be disgusted with the physician's cooking. Kay and Arthur would inevitably get into a food fight, ignoring Leon's scolding for Kay to be a better example. Leon was never much of an example himself, as the second Kay threw stew in his hair he would stand with a mischievous gleam in his eye and join on the battle. Gaius would pretend to hate it but Arthur knew that he always secretly loved the company.

Of course, then Arthur grew older and Uther started taking notice. Sometimes Arthur wished he hadn't. For a short while, just for a little bit, he had a small family, and his father crashing into his life had only ruined it. But Arthur still clung to those memories like a lifeline, recalling his younger life as a way to keep himself grounded in the sea of blood around him.

"No, you're right."

Kay reached over and ruffled the prince's hair. "That's my boy." Arthur opened his mouth to protest being called a boy, but stopped at Kay's expression. "Burning tonight." They reached the doors, and Kay sighed. "Let's get this over with."

-:-

Merlin held his love in his arms, grinning goofily as she nuzzled into him. He felt her heartbeat as clearly as his own, and here, joined as they were, her mind was also a part of his own. He no longer cared whether someone came looking for him, if a servant walked in and found them like this. Freya and he had long ago breached such awkwardness, and now they found only peace with each other. Besides, no one would be up at this hour. It was just Freya and him, or it would be for a few hours at least. Merlin stroked her hair, relishing each silky strand as it passed through his fingers. He had missed this, so very much. A life patrolling the outer boarders was hard and dangerous. A life without Freya was unbearable. He had been on the boarders for a month at the most, and yet his soul had ached for her in a way he had not dreamed possible. The tiniest hint of dread crept into his heart, and Merlin tried to push it away. His mother always said that there was no point in worrying about the future; he should focus on what was here at the present moment. And yet . . .

"_Wait, my son." Merlin turned, befuddled, at the sound of his father's voice. Lancelot and Percival stopped as well, but Balinor dismissed them with a nod of his head and the two men reluctantly left. After the knights had gone, Balinor motioned for his son to follow him. Merlin followed his father out through the meeting room. They walked above the training grounds and Merlin smiled at the young sorcerers and knights throwing spells and clashing weapons. In a day he would be back training them. He relished the thought._

_The two men reached the courtyard, and Merlin took a deep breath as they stepped inside. The pure _magic_ was overwhelming, and it consumed him with joy and peace and power. He looked up at the glowing vines wrapping themselves around the stonework, and grinned at the giant marble dragon, suddenly finding himself immersed in memories of tumbling over that great creature as a child._

"_Come, Merlin." Merlin waded through a sea of blue-belled flowers and sat down next to his father. He could still hear the faint laughter of the squires as they finished up a day's work. _

_"Why have you called me here?" For a minute Merlin wasn't even sure that Balinor would answer, but then his father gave a long, deep sigh._

"_There are many things stirring outside our kingdom, son, things that the realm holders and I do not find reassuring." He sighed again, and Merlin felt his stomach clench a little. "Despite our best efforts to stay hidden, Uther's scouts still skirt around our boarders. I am worried—" He broke off and ran a hand over his face. "You don't know what he does to them. Those with magic. If Camelot were to attack New Albion . . . it would be nothing less than all-out war." _

_Merlin felt his throat go dry. He had heard nothing but tales of the evils of Camelot growing up, nothing but stories of murder and hypocrisy and sadistic burnings. He didn't want to imagine what it would be like to have those demons invading his home, killing all in their path. "But . . . Uther has never found us before? Shouldn't now be the same?"_

"_Yes, hopefully. Most likely nothing will come of it. But I worry of the traders that come in through our borders, and of the convoys that go out. We cannot exist if we are completely cut off from the other realms, but our safety depends on our isolation." Merlin waited to see if his father would say more, but the regal man fell into silence, and, as always, his son followed his lead. For a while there was nothing but a steady quiet. _

_Soft laughter floated in from the hallway, and Merlin raised his head in time to see Freya walking down towards the physician's, escorted by her maids. She caught his eye and blushed softly, sending him a happy smile. His eyes followed her as she walked farther away, and he didn't realize that he'd been grinning until Balinor chuckled beside him._

_"Ah, young love. I remember when your mother and I were your age." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "We would sneak out when it was dark, run to our favorite spot. All alone in the moonlight, and how she would mo—"_

"Gah!_ Stop! No!" Balinor laughed heartily at his beet-red son and slapped the warlock on the back. Then his laughter faded slightly. _

"_I worry for you, you know." Merlin looked up, surprised by the sudden topic change, and Balinor sighed. "I love Freya, you know I do, she is as dear to me as a daughter. But she is destined for a very different path from yours. One day she will have leave to be the next lady of the lake, and both your hearts will suffer for it." _

_Merlin schooled his face, grabbing hold of the dark emotions threatening to erupt. "We can only live in the present moment."_

_Balinor sighed dramatically. "And there you go again, quoting your mother on me." The larger man stood, offering a hand out to his son. "Come Merlin, let us talk of happier things. We have a home-coming feast to prepare for, and there are enough things worth laughing for to outweigh all of the sorrow in Albion."_

Freya murmured, pressing her face closer into his chest. The sheet had slipped off her uncovered body, and Merlin pulled it up again, to give her some decency if a servant was to come looking for him. He gazed at his lover, mumbling in her sleep, and was struck by her overwhelming beauty. He was sure that even in rags and covered in dirt, this woman could be beautiful. But it was her heart, beating next to his, that he truly treasured. Someday she may be gone, but for now she was real and tangible and sleeping happily in his arms. Merlin closed his eyes.

-:-

Arthur was not a hundred paces from his father's office when he heard shouting. He picked up his strides to a brisker speed. There was a loud crash. Arthur ran for the door.

"And what will happen when you are done killing off those you deem monstrous? Where will your enemies be then Uther? You will make enemies of us all!"

"I will not be spoken to like this!"

Arthur sighed. He reached for the door, and had only brushed the handle when a blur of angry Morgana flew out the door and past him, knocking his hand backward. He watched her storm down the hall. "Nice to see you, too."

"Arthur. Come in." Arthur opened the door and walked in, trying to push all general confusion about magic users out of his head. His father had always taught him that confusion muddles the brain and dulls the senses; it is nothing but weakness on a battlefield. If there was anything Arthur knew for certain about his father, it was that every conversation with him was war.

Arthur schooled his expression and prepared himself for the first blow. "You wanted to see me, father?"

Uther turned from the window, smiling at his son. There was nothing colder than Uther's smile, Arthur had always thought that his smile was worse than his frown—a scowl with the appearance of goodness. "Yes I did. One of our scouts has received news from the border of the Perilous lands. He tipped off a merchant that trades with the monsters there." Uther's mouth morphed into a grimise. "A convoy from that country is coming to Camelot, under a white flag of peace, to one of the lakes here. Apparently one of their priestesses needs to visit the lake for one of their barbaric rituals." He was suddenly smiling again. "I want you to hunt them down, kill anyone guarding them, and return with anyone of importance. We will use them to find out information on their kind."

A blunt man, his father. Arthur felt his stomach drop a little. "But father . . . they're traveling under a flag of peace. Surely—"

"Arthur." Uther took a step forward, and looked into his son's eyes. Uther's gaze—controlling, maniacal, commanding—had a way of making Arthur feel like a child, cowering beneath his father and begging for his approval. "Magic is evil. It morphs and poisons the hearts of whoever uses it. These creatures traveling to our borders are no longer men. They are monsters, and they are coming to Camelot. It is our job to protect our people. You will capture them, and you will bring them back to me."

Arthur thought of all the evil he had seen magic do. He thought of whole villages burned, of people dying from sickness or disease. He thought of griffins eating people alive, of the screams of townsfolk obliterated by sorcerers.

He thought of the child with Morgana's spirit.

And then he thought of the hundreds of children he had seen orphaned, tortured and murdered by magic.

Arthur nodded.

-:-

"It's too dangerous!"

"I'll be fine, we'll have a whole party of knights, Percy's coming—"

"—You're our prince, you can't endanger yourself like this!"

"This is no more dangerous than killing griffins at the border, Lance," the shorter man reasoned. The taller man snarled, but his companion held his gaze, eyes unfazed and face expressionless. "Besides, I'm not the only prince in this realm."

"We have no other Emrys."

Merlin sighed. "No, we do not. And that is why, above all reasons, I must be in this convoy." Lancelot opened his mouth to argue, but Merlin put up a hand. "There will be no one better to protect her than me, Lance." Lancelot let out a shaky breath and he glanced down, breaking the eye contact. Merlin waited as his friend took a long breath. Lancelot glanced up again, catching Merlin's eyes in his own. "Let me come with you."

"No," Merlin seemed to realize the strength in his words and tried to fix the hurt in his friend's eyes. "It's just that I need someone here, someone I trust . . ." Merlin sighed. "Mother's worried sick and there's no one better to command our troops—" Lancelot cut Merlin off, placing a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder. The warlock's eyes shimmered, but his face was set. It was moments like this, moments when Merlin started to babble, moments when his cool was lost that Lancelot was reminded who was the elder in their friendship. Merlin had always been an independent child, but once upon a time Lancelot and Percival had been his older brothers, brothers that tackled him into the mud and taught him his letters and teased him endlessly about Freya (although she'd done quite a bit of mud tackling of her own). The older the prince got, the more mature and the more detached he became, the more respect he commanded, until Lancelot found himself looking to Merlin for commands, for advice. Sometimes it got so mechanical that he forgot that Merlin was barely a man, and that he too needed someone to rely on. In those moments it was Lancelot's duty and his pride to push away his own feelings and help his prince. After all, Merlin was more than his prince, more than his surrogate younger brother—the boy was his closest friend.

Lancelot felt Merlin tremble under his touch and began to realize just how stressed the prince had been these past few days. He felt a rush of sympathy for his friend and then a wave of guilt for adding to the stress. The worry was still strong in his mind, pushing and unrelenting, but he knew how stubborn Merlin was. The best thing for him right now was to ease his worry. "I understand." Merlin looked up into Lancelot's eyes and the knight felt his prince's venerability pierce his soul. "Just . . . be careful my friend. There are worse monsters in Camelot than griffons."

"I know," Merlin murmured. "I know." He grinned, the joy not quite reaching his eyes. "I suppose we have a feast to get ready for."

Forcing a smile, Lancelot gave the prince a push. "I hear the queen has prepared your ceremonial robes."

Merlin groaned. "Don't remind me." The two laughed and parted.

As Merlin rounded the corner, Lancelot stopped. "Merlin!"

The warlock poked his head around the corner. "Yeah?"

Lancelot set his mouth in a frown, forcing down the bubbles of mirth at Merlin's scared expression. "Take a bath." Laughing at his friend's shocked and then angry splutterings, Lancelot ran down the hall.

-:-

There is always a pause before the storm. For some men it comes in a quiet moment before a battle when they can remember their loved ones. For others it is the sinking in their stomach before everything shatters, for some it is the few waking moments before duty and diligence force them to drag their aching bodies back into the world. And for some it is looking destiny in the eye and spitting, knowing full well of the consequences.

Sometimes destiny pauses a bit before the dive, stopping to smell the winds it is about to change forever. Sometimes it holds back a little for its mistress to join it, although fate is trickier than her lover and sometimes she doesn't show. Sometimes destiny dives straight in, regardless of timing or convenience, stirring up all in its path. And sometimes, only sometimes, all these things happen at once.

If a golden prince had known of the consequences perhaps he would've defied his father. If an ancient boy had known the pain to come perhaps he would've listened to a trusted friend. But this time fate was playing her hand, and arm in arm with destiny she placed a desire deep within their souls, an unshakable desire—to finally meet their soul brothers. There is no fighting fate, there is no shaking destiny, and when their powers are combined, there is no turning back.

-:-

Arthur hated wearing armor to the burnings. It felt like he was going into battle, when in reality the battle was already done. What he was doing was watching his defeated foes burn, and there was no glory to be earned by the stakes, only the smell of death and the sound of screaming. But Uther insisted, and so Arthur complied. It was strange, he realized sometimes, that he should go so far to please a man he barely knew. But there was something about Uther that made Arthur practically beg for approval. Maybe it was the stories Gaius told him when he was young, of a great and compassionate man. Maybe it was the rare, secret smiles that Uther saved just for his son. And maybe it was just the simple fact that despite all of his flaws, Uther Pendragon was Arthur's father and his love somehow mattered the most. The reasons held no consequence. He was wearing the armor.

Arthur's servant finished fastening his breastplate, and the prince stared blankly at his reflection. A prince, a murderer, a champion—he wasn't sure what he saw anymore.

"Your sword, sire?"

Arthur sighed. "Thank you George." The prince of Camelot sheathed his sword, took a deep breath, and walked out into the day.

-:-

Merlin picked up yet another shirt and grimaced. It was not the tradition of the Avalonian folk to wear more than simple, albeit enchanted, clothes on a daily basis. Sure, he had his ceremonial druidic robes, but besides that his duties as a prince never required him to wear more than his favorite tunic and cloak. But the nobility of Camelot could not abandon certain traditions as easily as they abandoned their country. He was to wear his dress robes to the feast and that was the end of it.

According to his mother, at least.

He himself would do everything that was humanly possible to get out of it. But the damn woman had made him promise. She had also brought up Freya in the hopes that it would befuddle him enough to agree to said promise.

She knew him too well.

Behind Merlin, Bruce rummaged through his master's clothes, complaining loudly about the state of them. Apparently the Emrys was a slob. Merlin didn't deny it.

"I mean, is it so hard to just _fold_ them every once in a while?!"

Merlin turned to shoot a cheeky grin at his servant. "That's what I have you for!"

The fondness in Bruce's eyes took away some of the edge in his glare. Merlin would never stop being grateful for Bruce. The normally serious servant was a blessing in his life—a friend where, unlike Lancelot, decorum meant nothing. Bruce himself didn't have the touch for magic, but his sister had, as well as both their parents. When Balinor found the two orphans—alone, half dead, and on the border to the Perilous Lands, he had taken them in and given them shelter, guardians, and jobs in the castle. Bruce had been assigned to Merlin and his sister Sarah had been assigned to Freya. Both pairs had grown inseparable over the years, and Merlin counted Bruce as one of his closest friends.

The stocky servant gave an annoyed huff and turned back to his cleaning. "Better put that shirt on then." He turned around to see Merlin grimacing at the heavily embroidered tunic. "Well go on! I'm not going to do it for you. "Laughing at his prince's horrified expression, Bruce threw a silk scarf onto the bed.

Merlin groaned in resignation and reached for the shirt. This was going to be a long feast.

-:-

Arthur stood next to his father, arms behind his back, trying to ignore the growing stench of flesh. It twisted in poisoned fumes towards him, almost screaming at him.

_Your fault your fault your fault—_

But there was no need for imagined screaming when real screams were all around him, making him want to tear his ears out, making him want to jump in with them. Arthur choked on smoke.

_Your fault your fault your fault . . ._

-:-

Lady Constance was flirting with him. Again. She wasn't the only one, but she was the most persistent. Many of the court ladies, most of them royal, constantly pursued him in public settings. Merlin felt a little guilty by turning them down again and again, but they knew his relationship with Freya as well as anyone. He knew what most of them were doing—it was politics, plain and simple. One day Freya would leave to become the lady of the lake, and they were counting on him not remaining a bachelor. Constance, however, was besotted. Merlin had no idea why. He'd barely said three words to her. But the poor woman would not cease to pursue him. Guilt had plagued him with the first few refusals, but by now it was just getting ridiculous. Bruce, of course, found it hilarious.

Constance inquired (for the fifteenth time) after his magical studies and Merlin heard a snicker from his left. He turned to see Lancelot trying to hide his mirth.

"_I don't think that you really appreciate the patience I have for these feasts"._

Merlin heard the knight chuckle.

_"It's more the expression on your face than anything else. Only Constance would believe that you had any interest with _that_ look."_

"_If you were any kind of friend you would distract her while I dance with your cousin."_

_"Oh now that you put it that way, I _really_ want to help you out."_

"_I saved your life twenty-one times on the border."_

"_Hey, I saved you too!"_

"_Only nineteen times."_

"_Damn you."_

Merlin choked back a laugh and gave lady Constance a little bow. "Thank you for the lively conversation, my lady, but I must take my leave of you now." Merlin kissed her hand and walked away, letting Lancelot distract the woman before she could follow.

"_You look stunning tonight, my lady." _

Freya turned away from the royal she had been talking with. "_My_ lord." He heard her giggle in his mind.

Merlin bowed. "May I have this dance, milady?" Unable to keep the smile off his face, he grinned up at her.

The corners of Freya's mouth twitched, but she managed a dignified curtsy. "Certainly, my lord." Merlin took her by the waist and guided her effortlessly across the floor.

"_Something bothers you, my love."_

Freya's sigh confirmed his suspicions. _"I'm only worried for the trip. What if we get caught—what if something goes wrong?"_

"_You sound like my mother."_

"_Merlin!"_ Freya gave his arm a little push. A few aristocrats shot them odd looks, and Freya blushed. _"This is serious!"_

"_I'm sorry. I know."_ Merlin looked down at his lover and saw the conflict in her eyes. He pulled her out of the dance and towards the terrace.

Merlin leaned back on the balcony, his left hand intertwined with Freya's. _"Now_ tell me what's wrong."

The lady did not speak. Instead she placed her free hand over their intertwined fingers. Taking his hand in both of hers, she leaned down to kiss his palm before resting her head in his hand. Brow furrowed, Merlin pulled his lady close.

Freya shook. "I've been having dreams, premonitions. I don't think we should go."

Merlin pulled back to look at her face and cupped her cheek with his hand. "It'll be okay love. We're bringing Percy, we're bringing four of my best knights, we're bringing you—and you're no pushover, in case you haven't noticed—And," he said with a grin, "You've got me."

She laughed and shoved him half-heartedly, wiping away tear tracks. "Someone's a bit full of himself."

"Aren't I always?" he asked, grinning at her.

She played with the frills around his collar. "Bruce," she said softly.

"What about Bruce?"

"You forgot Bruce," Freya explained. Merlin thought her voice was a bit shaky. "Bruce is coming too."

He laughed, trying to make the tears in her eyes go away. "Nah, Bruce doesn't count." Freya smiled, a single tear rolling down her cheek. "Come now, we can't have that." He frowned. "Come here." She pressed her face into his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him.

_"I don't think he'd be very happy to hear you say that." _

"_No, he probably wouldn't."_ Merlin pressed a kiss to the top of her head. _"It's going to be okay, love. I promise."_

-:-

Arthur stared at the pile of ashes polluting the courtyard.

_Murderer._

_Innocent._

_Murderer._

_Innocent._

He closed his eyes and breathed out, trying to clear his mind. There would be time to question loyalties later. For now, there was a magical prince advancing on his kingdom and a hunt to plan. Arthur left to gather the knights.

-:-

Fate purred with pleasure. Destiny smiled in satisfaction. The wheels of prophecy were turning again.


	3. Ch 2- Captured

Aaand the newest chapter is up! I hope you guys enjoy! ;D

Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_

-:-

_P.r.o.p.h.e.s.i.e.d._

_-:-_

_C.h.a.p.t.e.r..T.w.o._

-:-

The ride to Camelot had been surprisingly uneventful. Besides a few griffons on the boarder (Freya had been very smug about this particular encounter) there hadn't been any other attacks. No bandits, no patrols from Camelot . . . nothing. So far their trip had been peaceful, uneventful and successful.

It was driving Merlin mad.

Every tree they passed seemed to hold some hidden foe, and a team of Camelot's best knights seemed to be waiting at every turn. Bruce had tried to gode the paranoid warlock into a banter with an _extremely_ dry lecture on the histories of Camelot, but when even The Battle of Andor's Ridge couldn't get anything more than a worried glance out of the prince, Bruce gave up. Percival hadn't thought it possible to have a battle where absolutely _nothing_ happened. He stood corrected. But when Bruce's obsessive love for useless knowledge didn't get at least an eye roll from Merlin, the knight began to worry. Thankfully Freya had managed to the prince into conversation—when Percy had tried, Merlin had only asked how long until the lake. Normally the warlock's actions would amuse Percival, considering that it had been the warlock who had promoted the trip the most, but Merlin's worrying was starting to make _Percival_ worry. It _was_ odd that they hadn't passed a single Camelot patrol yet. But, true to his nature, New Avalon's largest knight remained silent and stoic.

Behind Percival he could hear his friends talking in whispers, their heads close together. A smile tugged at his lips when he remembered the days before they finally realized their feelings. He had watched many, _many_ years of awkward silences and blushing teenagers.

"_I swear to all the gods I'm going to _kill_ you Lancelot du Lac!"_

"_You're going to have to catch me first!"_

_The black haired girl, screaming with rage, tore around the corner, nearly tripping over her skirts as she ran after her cousin. Percy watched them with amusement before going back to sharpening his sword. He smiled at the gleaming surface. He would be ten soon, and as a gift the master-at-arms had given him a sword. A _sword!_ Sure, it was more of a butter knife to the knights, but it was still sharp enough to trim the tops of grass with a single flick. Lance was madly jealous, but Percy was sure that his friend would get one too when he turned ten, especially since he had the most potential of them all—even more than Merlin, who as the prince should be the best at those kinds of things. If he really was a prince. Percy _thought_ he was. The boy scratched at his head. His druid tribe had tried to explain things—things like New Avalon's new politics—to the younger ones, but it had only made Percy's head hurt. All he knew was that Merlin was _really_ powerful. Like, more powerful than the head priestess, and she scared Percy more than anyone. But, he thought brightly, Merlin was his friend, so there was nothing to really be scared about._

"_Percy!" _

_Speak of the devil! Percy looked up to see Merlin running towards him, grinning madly. The older boy grumbled. "I told you not to call me that."_

_Merlin stopped in his tracks, and cocked his head. "Why not?"_

"_Because it's too childish!" Percy stood up, swinging his sword impressively. "I'm going to be a knight soon! I can't have a nickname!" Percy's sword drooped slightly._

_Merlin studied him for a minute, then grinned again. "Nah, you'll always be Percy to me." He came closer. "Is this about what Nathan was saying?"_

" Squire_ Nathan! And . . ." Percy shifted uncomfortably under Merlin's stare. ". . . Maybe."_

_Merlin snorted. "Don't listen to that cabbage head! He's as stuck-up as his parents, and a lousy shot besides."_

"_I guess . . . so . . . hey!"_

"What?"

_Percy bounced. "Was that a new one?"_

"_What, calling Nathan a lousy shot? It's true, he can't hit for a—"_

"_No, not that!" Percy waved dismissively. "Cabbage head!"_

"_Oh yeah!" Merlin beamed with pride. "I got it off of Morgause today, turns out she's not as stone-cold as she looks like!" The prince caught sight of Percy's shiver and laughed. "Oh, come off it, Perce, she's not that bad. For the largest page, you can sure be a—"_

"—_Oh shut it, you." Both boys grinned at each other. "Oh!"_

"_What?"_

"_Didn't you come here for something?"_

_Merlin practically shot up with excitement. "Oh yeah!" He rummaged through his bag before pulling out something, which he held out to Percy. "Look!"_

_Percy gasped. In Merlin's hands was a sapphire pendant, except that it had obviously been enchanted. Colors swirled around inside the gem, occasionally floating outside the crystal before fading away. The faintest image of a dancing fairy could be beheld inside, surrounded by swirls of gold. Percy looked up at Merlin, who was watching his expression with anticipation. "Merlin . . . is this for Freya?"_

_The warlock looked sheepishly down at his feet. "Yeah . . . I bugged the spell master until he taught me how to make it." He looked up, the tiniest shreds of doubt lurking in his eyes. "Do you think . . . that she'll like it?"_

_Percy shook his head in disbelief. "I think she'll love it."_

"Percy!"

Percival turned around with repressed exasperation. _"Yes?"_

"How long do you think until we get there?"

"I told you before Merlin, we'll get there when we—"

"—Sir Percival." Percival turned back to see a bemused knight grinning at him. The younger man glared at his friend.

"_Yes_, Sir Nathan?"

The knight's captain chuckled. "You might want to look through those bushes over there." Grumbling, Percival dismounted from his horse, leading the beast off the path. He pushed away the underbrush.

"Thank the gods."

-:-

Arthur smiled grimly. According to the scouts, it was only a matter of time before the New Avalon party appeared at the lake, and then it was only a matter of moments before he had them bound, defeated, and ready to be taken back to his father. Arthur had been lucky; the Perilous lands were much farther from the lake than Camelot was, and even with the sorcerers' head start Arthur had beat them by two days at least. From his patrol's vantage point they had an excellent view of the lake's shore's, as well as a perfect spot for a surprise attack. Now they just had to wait.

Arthur tried not to think about the little druid girl.

What was so special about this lake, anyway? The best he had been able to get out of Uther was that "the sorceress needs it for her unnatural ceremony." But really! Couldn't they find another lake? What kind of _idiots _ plan a trip into enemy territory to go to some very specific lake, apparently, where they will then be captured by an enemy prince who isn't really sure if he wants to capture them, thanks . . .

Arthur shook his head. Kay was right. He did think too much. Arthur got up from his post and moved towards the rest of the party, smiling back at Leon as he sank to the flood.

"No sign of them, sire?"

"No, none yet." Arthur frowned. "And don't call me that."

Leon sighed. "We've been over this . . ."

"Oh, lighten up!" Kay grinned as he threw his arm around his friend. Leon scowled, but Kay, as usual, ignored the serious knight. "You as well, Arthur." The prince looked up. "We're all set up to capture our little party, we have the stone. It'll be simple. In and out. Your father," Leon's face twitched, "will be pleased."

Arthur sighed. "That's not what I'm worried about." He caught Kay's eyes, which had been avoiding his own.

The older knight sighed, his arm falling from Leon's shoulder. "Just do the job." Kay stood and stretched. "I'll take first watch."

-:-

The sun was lowering by the time the party showed up. Arthur was just blinking the sleep from his eyes, ready to take the watch from Leon when he heard the cracking branches and low voices of an approaching group. Instantly he snapped into action, reaching for his sword as Leon and Kay woke the others. Arthur crouched at the edge of his cover, waiting. A large knight emerged first, relief clear on his face. The knight called out to the others and then the rest of the party pushed their way through the underbrush. The black haired man in the deep blue cloak helped the lady descend the ridge, and a servant and several knights followed. Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly. The black haired man, clearly the leader, matched the description that Camelot's spies had given them of Prince Emrys. As for the rest, the largest knight seemed to be the closest to the prince, although another knight appeared to be the captain of the little group. The lady, being the only woman there, was clearly the sorceress, and although the servant had not put forth any visible skills yet, Arthur was sure that the manservant of such a powerful sorcerer was sure to have magic as well. He lowered himself, shifting his grip on his sword. This would have to be timed well.

The lady laughed at something Emrys said, and the prince grinned, waving his arms around. Unfortunately this only made him unbalanced, and the servant and knights guffawed as their prince wind-milled his arms to try to stay upward. Arthur was taken aback by the man's clumsiness, and his companion's familiarity with him. Was this really the prince of Avalon? The lady kissed Emrys on the cheek, and then made her way towards the shores. She kicked off her shoes (boots, Arthur noticed) and began to wade into the lake. Arthur raised his arm slightly, hand in a fist, and behind him his knights tensed. Arms raised high, the lady began to chant, and the lake glowed bright blue. Arthur tensed.

_Now._

He let his arm fall, and together the knights and their prince charged down the ridge, falling upon the unsuspecting sorcerers. Arthur threw his sword through the first knight, the shocked man falling to the ground before he could even draw his sword. Adrenaline pumping, Arthur sliced through the next knight before clashing swords with the man's companion, who, with a roar, charged at Camelot's prince. The man was clearly experienced, but no match for Arthur, who disarmed him and knocked him backwards. Just as he was about to dispatch the knight there was a roar and Arthur and his knights were flung backwards. Dazed, the prince struggled to look up, and his eyes met gold-blue. Emrys stood, the air crackling around him, the challenge clear on his face. His fallen knights scrambled to their feet, forming their ranks behind him.

There was a cry.

The tallest knight, teeth clenched, tears wetting his face, held the captain to his chest. His tears fell on the man's wound, washing blood off of the dead man's body. Emrys visibly paled. Several of the knights cried out and tried to rush at Camelot's guard, but Emrys held out a hand to stop them. His own chest shaking, Emrys's eyes never left Arthur's. A single tear fell down his face.

"Please," Emrys begged, his hands betraying no weakness but his eyes betraying much. "We come in peace. Leave now, and spare the lives of your men. No more good soldiers need die today." Arthur looked around at the shore, at the three dead Avalon warriors, at his own injured knights. Then he looked at Emrys, hovering slightly off the ground, eyes gold and hands ready.

Arthur pulled himself up, seizing his sword. With a cry, he charged at Emrys, whose own sword clashed with Arthur's. A second later Arthur was being lifted off the ground. Panicked, he clutched at his throat, trying to pry invisible fingers off his neck. Below him Emrys's eyes burned gold, hand outstretched; eyes sad. Behind him he heard Kay shout, but Arthur closed his eyes, keeping his focus, despite the air closing in around his throat. He forced his hand to his pouch, and fumbling with the catch, managed to pull out the stone that his father had given him.

"_Use this on the sorcerer,_ _" _Uther had said, _ "and he will be easily contained."_ Arthur hadn't liked the smile on his father's face, but here, caught between death and life, he had no choice. He held the stone up high. It pulsed a blood red in the daylight, and Arthur caught a glimpse of Emrys's terrified face before he flung the rock at the sorcerer. There was a flash of red light, and Arthur fell instantly to the ground. He rolled to the side, choking and gasping, his vision blurred.

Emrys screamed.

Arthur rolled over, sword in hand, and felt his throat go numb. The stone lay between him and Emrys, still pulsing, but it wasn't the stone that held his attention. Emrys's skin was _rippling_, red runes pulsing all over his body, leaving scarlet streaks that seemed to burn, for Emrys was rubbing at them almost as hard as he was screaming. Emrys fell backwards, and an arc of red lightning shooting from the stone towards him, circling Emrys in several red rings. Leon darted forward and seized Emrys's sword, but there was no point—despite the man's attempts to reach the sword, he was in too much pain to do more than twitch. Then without warning, the rings enclosed in on their prisoner, sending a shower of red sparks in all directions. Emrys cried out, twitched twice, and fell limp.

The tall knight gave a cry of anger and charged at Arthur, but Kay intercepted him, their swords clashing in a shower of sparks. Arthur struggled to his feet, and heard a voice seemingly far away shouting for the knights to take Prince Emrys, the sorceress, the servant, and the tall knight captive. Arthur readied his sword as the voice yelled to kill all others.

-:-

Kay's throat tightened as he finished securing the last of the chains. He stepped away from the unconscious knight, feeling a wave of regret sweep over him. The man had been a worthy foe, and it had taken Kay some time to disarm and knock him unconscious. By that time the other members of the Avalon guard were already dispatched, and some of Camelot's knights had begun to drag the bodies into a pile. The familiar bile had risen in Kay's throat, but he had fought to keep it down. Magic users, or anyone associated with them, were not permitted marked graves. Burning was crude, but affective. Despite Kay's constant coaching for Arthur to see beyond magic, to see _men_, Kay knew that he himself would never be able to act on what the King considered treason. He may preach equality to his prince, but as one of the King's closest guard he understood all too well how gradual change would be, and how imperative it was to keep all traitorous thoughts far away from Uther's ears.

Kay wished—but there was no time for wishing anymore. Arthur, still gasping from Emrys's spell, had ordered the foreign knights killed, and Kay had killed them. What a coward he was, hiding behind Camelot's bloody flag, killing innocents for his own personal gain. To stay safe, to keep Uther happy. No matter how many times Kay repeated that he had too much to lose, it never felt true. With a sword in his hand it was his victims who had the world to lose; when the sword was gone the guilt crept in. There was no escape though, not really, so Kay closed his eyes and started the mantra. He reminded himself why he was fighting, who he was killing for, who he was shredding his soul for. Kay moved away from the unconscious knight and moved to help his brothers-in-arms. There were bodies to burn.

The pile was very small this time, for the Avalon party had consisted of only a handful of men. They had probably intended to travel with stealth. _Little good it did them_, Kay thought bitterly, and once again he felt a flash of anger at Uther's underhanded methods. With a growl, he turned away from the bonfire of bodies and walked away from the prisoners, towards the edge of the camp where he need not to look at them. For to look at them would be unbearable—not only a reminder of the horrors he would be leading them to, but also a reminder of his own pathetic uselessness. Kay leaned his arm against a tree, looking out towards the lake. How beautiful it was, he thought with a distant animosity, in the midst of such sorrow. How beautiful, and how utterly retched.

The snapping of twigs alerted Kay to the approacher, but he did not turn, for he already knew who it was. Years upon years of training together had made him all too aware of when Leon would seek his company, for at times he knew his comrade better than himself. Brothers in all but blood. Leon would want solitude, but also counsel. In Kay he could find both. Kay turned slightly so he could face the other knight, who was now leaning on a tree as well. Leon caught his gaze for a while, before giving Kay a brief nod and looking out over the lake. It had only been a moment, but Kay understood, for Leon's expression all but mirrored his own. He observed his brother for a moment longer and then he too turned back towards the impossibly glittering shores.

One day, things would be different. One day Uther would be gone and Arthur would be King. Then, hopefully, there would be no more burnings; there would be no more fear. This was what Kay hoped for, the reason he had stayed for so long. Because Arthur was not like his father. In looks, perhaps, but not in _soul. _In his deepest places Arthur was the King everyone had waited so long for, the man who would finally heal this broken land. Kay knew it. That twelve-year old boy, orphaned and alone—he had seen it all those years ago, and he never forgot it. Complications came later that kept Kay from leaving, but even without them, he wouldn't have run. He and Leon—they would stay with Arthur through all things. For they both knew that one day, far in the future, there would be no fear of fire, and no unmarked graves blackening the land.

-:-

If the Emrys hadn't looked so very _human_, lying there, flecks of blood in hair, Arthur would've been able to find some reason to hate him. But the Emrys, prince of the untouchable realm, looked anything but evil. Red sparks still circled him even though Arthur had put away the stone long ago; the man was muttering in his sleep, twitching occasionally, and beads of sweat gleamed on his forehead. Arthur's conscience gave a dull throb and he willed it to vanish. There's no room for conscience in service to the king.

Kay had the campfire left long ago, and soon after Leon had also taken his leave. They would be back before nightfall; Arthur knew this. For now he had nothing to do but remain by the prisoners and stew in guilt, or whatever the unpleasant feeling pooling in his gut was. He wished it would leave, it really _should_, but stubbornly it remained, pleading with him to reconsider, trying to force all fear of his father out of his mind. He focused all of his remaining energy on ignoring it and, letting one of the other knights take the first watch, Arthur passed into unconsciousness.

When Arthur woke the next morning the fire was already lit, and Kay was roasting breakfast over it. Kay's ability to cook still baffled Arthur, who could barely skin a doormouse himself, much less roast it to perfection. But somehow Kay could manage this particular feat; making him the elected cook of any group he traveled in.

"Wakey, wakey Arty! Here—" The knight shoved a let of meat in Arthur's face, ignoring the prince's grunts of protest. Arthur took the meat with a glare. Kay chuckled, and stood up to take the rest of the meat to the other knights. Arthur pulled himself up and was about to take a bite of the bird when he saw movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Emrys, shifting slightly and eyeing the meat hungrily. He caught Arthur staring at him and looked away quickly. Emrys really _was_ thin; Arthur could practically see his ribs jutting through his shirt. Arthur looked down at his bird leg, up at Emrys, who was pointedly ignoring him, and then tossed the leg at the sorcerer. Emrys, not expecting this, made no move to catch it, and it landed in the grass between them.

For a while Emrys stared blankly at the food in front of him. Arthur had begun to wonder whether he'd have to shove the leg down the sorcerer's throat when the man spoke, his voice gravely. "Why are you doing this?"

Arthur frowned. "What?"

"Helping me." Emrys gestured to the meat, still untouched. "Feeding the enemy."

"That is the question, isn't it." Emrys frowned at him and Arthur turned away. "Just eat the leg."

Emrys eyed the meat warily, before pushing it away. "I'm good, thanks."

Arthur felt a flash of anger. "You're _good__**? **_You look half-starved, you can't have eaten in at least a day, and now I'm feeding you. You should be grateful—"

"—_Grateful?!"_ Emrys let out a bark of laughter. "You just slaughtered my men, bound my magic and took me prisoner and you expect me to be _grateful?!_ I've heard tales of the savagery of Camelot's princes, Arthur Pendragon, but they seem to have left out the _arrogance_ . . ."

Arthur's throat tightened at Emrys's chastise, but his head shot up at the mention of his title. "How do you know who I am?"

Emrys was looing at him now with nothing less than complete and utter incredulously, and Arthur suddenly wished he could bite back his words. Emrys spoke with utter superiority, as if speaking to a child. "Has it ever occurred to you that if Camelot has spies on out borders, then we would have spies in Camelot? Besides, even without an introduction it's _quite_ clear who you are." Arthur found he had nothing to say about that, and so for a while he watched Emrys stare into the fire, the man's expression dark and brooding. Arthur knew what had to be said, and he knew what the reaction would be, but he felt duty-bound to say it anyway.

"I'm sorry about your men."

Emrys looked up, and for a moment he looked genially surprised. Then anger took over, and Arthur leaned back in the face of the man's rage. "_Sorry?_ You're _sorry?!_ You murdered them, every last one, under a flag of _peace_, and you're _sorry_?! " Hearing the raised voices a knight started to come over but Arthur waved him back.

"Yes, I'm sorry. They were enemies of Camelot, and I wouldn't have them roaming our lands. As a prince, my duty was their deaths. But I'm a commander also, and I know the pain of losing men. I'm sorry for their waste, and I'm sorry that you suffer life while your men are dead." _Now_ Emrys was truly shocked. He stared at Arthur for some time, almost as if to judge the truth in his words. Then, soundlessly, the sorcerer reached for the bird's leg. Arthur smiled, but Emrys caught his eye, and the look the man gave him seemed to burn into his very soul.

"Just because I eat your meat does not mean I will be your slave, prince of Camelot." And, despite the tone of Emrys's words, Arthur felt the weight on his chest lighten.

-:-

The ride for Camelot was at least two days long, so Arthur was grateful that not all of the sorcerers' horses had bolted. None of his knights, him included, would relish carrying a sorcerer on their steed, manacles or not. As it stood, they wouldn't have to carry anyone, but Arthur was worried that one of the prisoners would try to make a break for it. Kay had rigged a chain system on the horses, tying them to each other so they would trip if anything but a light trot was attempted, but these were sorcerers' horses, so Arthur was more than a little wary.

The past hour or so of riding had been fairly uneventful, so Arthur had spent most of the time observing the prisoners. Kay always taught Arthur to observe the enemy closely and find their weaknesses, and at a nod from the older knight that was just what the prince did. Leon was leading the group now, giving Arthur ample time to observe the Avalonians.

Arthur knew he had the most to fear from the tall knight, who seemed to have little magic but was easily the largest man Arthur had ever seen. Leon had wrapped the man in chains, but he still seemed ready to fight. Arthur had an archer aimed at Emrys's head to keep the knight in check. It was obvious almost from the beginning that Emrys and the sorceress were lovers. Arthur wouldn't have been so sure had he not seen them yesterday, but the lady had been put on Emrys's horse, and they spent much of the ride talking in muted tones. The tall knight seemed to almost be their guardian, casting glares at any Camelot knight to even look their way, and more than once he had moved his horse to block Arthur's view. It was the servant who surprised Arthur the most, as he was treated as an equal, despite his status. And during the battle Arthur had seen him swing a sword with a skill almost matching the knights'. It seemed these sorcerers were full of surprises. And then there was Emrys, who was undoubtedly the leader, and not just because he was a prince. His comrades clearly respected him, even loved him, and it reminded Arthur of his relationship with his own knights. Again he felt a pang of regret at the men he had killed; again he pushed the feeling away. There was nothing he could do about it now.

When the sun began to set Arthur called for camp. The prisoners were put together by a tree, and Arthur went to get water while Leon got a fire going. When he returned Kay was regaling the knights with exaggerated tales of victories in battle and Leon was hiding his smile behind the shadows cast by the fire. This time Emrys accepted the food without protest, and his companions, though confused, followed their leader's example. After supper the knights talked among themselves, until one by one they fell asleep and once again Arthur was alone with Merlin. The dark haired man stared into the dying embers, leaving Arthur alone with his thoughts. After a period of silence Emrys spoke.

"My father has names for you, you know." Arthur looked up. "For the members of your court. He calls Uther the madman, Gaius the betrayer. And you . . ." Emrys's eyes meet Arthur's. "The puppet."

Arthur frowned. "Why are you telling me this?"

Emrys looked down, and Arthur wondered if he would speak at all. Then he looked Arthur dead in the eye, and there was a raw venerability in his gaze that surprised the prince. "Don't bring us back to Camelot."

Arthur sighed. "I don't really have a choice. You're sorcerers, you've broken the law. I have to bring you to my father."

"That's a lie." Emrys was glaring at him now, and he found himself glaring back.

"Oh really."

"You know as well as I do that there are other ways!" Emrys snapped. "You don't have to obey your father's will! Your honor as a warrior need not be compromised—you could say that we never came, say you waited for days but we never showed—"

"—And where would my honor be then? _Lying_ to my father? To my _king_?!"

"Oh, you may speak of honor, but who attacked a peaceful convoy? Who murdered my men?! Can you go before God with their lives on your conscience?"

Arthur laughed. "Oh, and what would a sorcerer know of God?"

Emrys's eyes flashed. "More than you'd know, _Pendragon_. My magic doesn't define who I am, or what I believe in. You may try to judge me, prince of Camelot, but look at yourself before you even _dare_. "God læn geþyld, ðu dysig*." He trailed off, muttering in the old tongue. Arthur face burned with rage and embarrassment. After a moment, Emrys took a deep breath.

"Please."

Arthur felt something in his stomach drop, for he knew the level of desperation needed for a prince to plea to his enemy. And yet, he also knew that his answer wouldn't change. "I'm sorry."

Emrys's face hardened, and he turned away. "Then you are a coward as well as a puppet." Arthur tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. After a while he was able to speak again.

"I _am_ sorry, Emrys." Emrys's back stiffened.

"Don't call me that."

"What?"

Emrys sighed. "My _title_ is Emrys. The destroyer, the champion, the savior. Never use my title. Use my given name."

"And that is?"

"Merlin."

-:-

*"God grant me patience, you fool."

Please review!


	4. Ch 3- Scrambled Loyalties

Hey everyone! I don't really have anything to say . . . especially since it's one in the morning and I'm completely beat. I hope you enjoy the chapter!

Oh wait! I just wanted to say to all of my reviewers: I love you immensely. You guys keep me going, and every single review puts the biggest smile on my face. *hugs for all!* A quick shot-out to Merwholocked628, It's a crazy-kept secret, and of course my lovely Hikaru for reviewing on every single chapter! You guys rock! Also to all the guests that I can't reply in pms to: *giant hug of love and gratefulness* I'm thinking of starting a guest reply section at the end, I'll probably start that next chapter :D

I LOVE ALL OF YOU GUYS YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE

Disclaimer: I don't own _Merlin_ . . . *ley sigh*

-:-

_P.r.o.p.h.e.s.i.e.d._

-:-

_C.h.a.p.t.e.r..T.h.r.e.e._

-:-

There was a pit in Merlin's stomach, a never-ending pit, and he wasn't sure it would ever leave. It grew with every step the group took towards Camelot until he could barely move; barely speak, as the panic threatened to overtake him. All his life he had been told of the evils of Camelot, heard bedtime stories warning him of the mad king and the knights with capes soaked in blood. His child's mind had twisted Camelot into a land of nightmares, and he had never really outgrown the image. And now he was going there, to a place no one with magic should have to go, and he felt small and weak and unprepared. His magic was bound, his body was still weak from that blasted stone, and his only hope for escape had turned out to be every bit of the puppet prince Balinor had described. Merlin supposed he couldn't blame Arthur for trying to serve his father, but Merlin had hoped . . .

Well, no point in thinking about it now. Arthur had just seemed _different_ somehow. Even with his magic sealed something deep in Merlin's soul, in his very _being_ seemed to stir near this prince of Camelot. At first it had confused him, this odd soul stirring that hadn't happened this strongly even with _Freya_, but he soon began to have his suspicions. Merlin had read the legends, and he had been trained his whole life to recognize the signs. The other half of his soul . . . Merlin hoped for both their sakes that Arthur was nothing more than a puppet prince, with no prophecies foretelling his birth.

"We can't be that far away now," Bruce muttered, casting a wary look at their guard. Freya was riding with Percival behind them, and Merlin also sent a worried glance backwards. "What do we do when we get there?"

Merlin opened his mouth to answer, although not sure what to say, and winced as another burst of pain hit him. The agony the shackles were giving him seemed to numb after a while, but every once in a while a bit of the stone's remaining energy shocked his system.

"Merlin?" Bruce looked back over and his eyes clouded with worry. "It's still hurting." He leaned in. "Why the _hell_ haven't you told us?"

"No point." Merlin hissed—his ribs didn't appreciate the talking.

"_Damn it_[i/]_, _Merlin," Bruce growled. "Just because you're the Emrys doesn't make you invincible! And," he continued as Merlin opened his mouth, "Don't give me any of your crap about appearances. You don't need to be strong for us." His expression softened. "I'm your _friend_ Merlin. I want to know if you're hurt." Merlin's chest tightened, and he nodded deftly. Bruce smiled weakly. "We're not going to be okay. God knows what we're going to face there. But . . ." Bruce nodded over at Percival and Freya. "We'll face it together." Merlin blinked rapidly and nodded. Again Bruce smiled.

"You! Pick up the pace!" Bruce's smile dropped from his face and he kicked his horse. Shining sped up a little and the knight barking orders followed.

"Come on Merlin." Prince Arthur rode up beside him and Merlin quickly regained his composure, allowing his Emrys mask to slide back in place. Arthur huffed. "You don't have to do that, you know."

"Do what?"

"Put on a face." He smiled at the look Merlin shot him. "I'm not _daft_. I know what you're doing, I've seen it often enough." He scratched his head. "I'm just saying . . . you're not some great, evil . . . _monster_. So you don't have to act like one."

Merlin's shock lasted only a second before anger seeped in. "Oh, so I'm not a monster? Then why the _hell_ am I wearing these?" He held up his raw wrists in accusation, and felt a brief flash of satisfaction at the stricken look on Arthur's face.

"I—" The prince looked down. "I didn't realize they were hurting."

Merlin laughed. "Oh they've been hurting, all right. Tell me Arthur Pendragon, have you ever had your entire being, everything that made you up be somehow _gone_? Because it's no picnic, I can tell you."

Arthur frowned. "What do you—"

"My _magic_, Pendragon," Merlin growled. "The shackles are binding my magic."

"But I don't see how—"

"—I'm Emrys. I am the most powerful sorcerer of all of time. I don't just use magic, I _am_ magic. It flows through my veins just as blood flows through yours, and now it's _gone_. It hurts a _lot_. Top that off with that lovely stone you threw at me—thanks for that, by the way—and you have a whole world of hurt that I would rather be without."

When Arthur met his gaze it was with a somber tenaciousness. "I'm sorry but I can't take them off, any less than I can let you go."

"Why? Because I'll go berserk and destroy you all the moment they come off? Because I'll escape, go back home instead of to your torture chambers?"

"We don't—"

"—Oh _you_ may not, but I assure you, your father has inflicted his fair share of agony on his prisoners." Merlin laughed. "It's almost funny, that such a pathetic, weak man could instill so much fear in the hearts of so many men."

Arthur's eyes flashed. "Careful, sorcerer."

"I'll be as careful as I want to be," Merlin growled. "I'm as much prince as you are, and my fate is going to be the same no matter what I say, so I'm going to shut my goddamn mouth when I _want_ to, than—" He broke off into a coughing fit. His vision blurred a little bit, and Merlin felt himself swaying as he gasped for breath.

Distantly he heard Arthur calling for the knights to stop. "We'll rest here. It's almost dusk anyway."

Merlin wiped his mouth and watched as Arthur dismounted and began to dish out orders to the knights. The prince gave him the warlock a little nod, and then moved on to help Freya off her horse. He handled her gently, making sure she was steady before handing her off to Kay. And Kay didn't flinch when he touched her, only guided the lady to a suitable spot. As Merlin watched, something deep began to stir in his chest, something like hope.

-:-

The water did her good. It was different waters that Freya had set out to bathe in, but water always had this affect on her, a kind of rhythmic feeling that soothed her soul. But this Camelotian spring, it was something else. It struck her like no water ever had, struck deep into her bones. Perhaps it was because she was the lady of the lake and this water was from her home. There was an old folk tale the elders used to tell when she was young, about how all the rivers flowed into Avalon. Freya had known, still knew this wasn't true; all rivers flow into the ocean—that vast, gorgeous creature she had yet to meet. But something in her soul still loved that story, still desperately wanted to believe it.

"_Quiet child! Stop your wriggling and listen!" The old nanny settled with a huff and began her story._

"_Once long ago there was a lady that guarded the gateway between this world and the next. She had untamable power, beauty that surpassed all others, and a task given to her from the triple goddess herself._

_And yet, the lady was sad, for she was lonely all by herself, tending to the gate. One night she cried out to the triple goddess for help. The goddess heard, and loving her daughter, sent a beam of light out to guide companions to her. The spirits of the land, nymphs of rivers and streams, saw the light. Nymphs are curious creatures, and they followed the light to its source, where they were shocked with a beautiful lady, eyes a deep azure blue. The lady gave a great cry of joy, and for ten long days and nights the new friends laughed and danced and told stories under the stars._

_But all great things must come to an end. And when the time came for the nymphs to leave, the lady cried and cried. She cried so much that her tears pooled into a lake, the same deep blue of her eyes. Seeing the lake gave the nymphs an idea. "Dry your eyes," they told the lady. "We will never be far from you. From this day forth, all rivers and streams will flow back into your lake, and then we can dance forever."_

_Time tumbled on, and eventually the lady grew old and died. All the rivers in the land mourned her, along with the triple goddess herself, and for ten days rain fell. But at the end of those ten days the lady's spirit entered the body of a child, and in this way her predecessor was chosen._

_For centuries young druid girls have taken the title of Lady of the Lake. And the rivers have kept their promise. No matter how far from the lake her guardian strays, the lady will always find loved ones around her."_

The ripples woke her _(had she been sleeping?)_ and Freya looked up into her lover's eyes. The voices of her past still echoed in her ears, and she wondered listlessly if the river gods would keep her loved ones safe. Wordlessly Merlin reached out a hand to her, and she let him take hers. Their chains fell together in a harsh clanking but Merlin held her hand to his cheek anyway, tilting his head to kiss her palm. Freya allowed herself to be lifted out of the water, to link her hands behind his neck, to tangle them in his beautiful raven hair. Merlin worked his own chained wrists over her head and down to her back, pulling her towards him. Their lips barely touched; again; again; again, and she planted gasping kisses along his jaw, down his neck. He ducked his head and captured her lips with his own, and in that moment Freya was truly free. She didn't feel the pain the manacles were inflicting on her, or the fear of Camelot, or the bruises and cuts from their capture. There was Merlin, and there was her, and there wasn't room for anything in between.

But the moment didn't last forever, despite Freya's deepest desire that it would. Merlin kissed her twice more—once on the lips, once on the forehead—and then he was gone, disentangled from her. Freya shivered in the water, let Merlin's tears run down her forehead and her own down her cheeks, and tried to hold on to the warmth that was suddenly gone.

-:-

Sir Kay was making Merlin laugh. It was the first thing Freya noticed when the guard let her back to the camp. It was a quiet kind of laugh that her beloved was emitting, barely more than a chuckle, but it stunned her into immobility. It took three prods and a shout from the guard to get her moving again.

The guard put her off to the side, near to Merlin, which she was grateful for. She managed to get herself at least to touching distance to Merlin before the guard secured her chains. It was a coincidence, she told herself, that Sir Leon spoke to the guard in whispers afterwards. The man's eyes darted over at her twice during the exchange. She turned her head away.

"And then he turns to me, all red in the face, on his sixth jug of mead at least, and asks where the hell I'd been. And I said . . ."

Freya tuned back into the conversation when the men around the campfire erupted in laughter. Merlin was still smiling, although the mirth was fading from his eyes. Percival was watching the men as well, but with a cold detachment that worried Freya. She was not used to seeing such a hard look on the gentle man's face. Bruce looked to be sleeping, Freya wondered if he really was.

Fingers entwined themselves with hers, and she leaned back into the tree they were sharing. The ropes around her legs were digging painfully into Freya's thighs so she tried to concentrate on the warmth in her fingers instead of the needles in her calves.

"_Look at them and their laughter."_

Freya started. _"Can you still do that?"_

"_It would seem so."_

"_Hmm."_ She frowned. _"This has got to be hurting, or at least draining some kind of power source."_

"_Hush, I can barely feel it."_

"_But how can we speak like this, with these monstrous things on?"_

"_I think it's because you're touching me, although I'm trying very hard not to think right now."_

Freya looked over at Merlin. His eyes were shut, and beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead. She closed her eyes.

"_So what kinds of shocking things are you going to say in the privacy of my head?"_

She felt him chuckle. _"Oh, you have no _idea_."_

Freya smiled. She felt the edges of her mind getting fuzzy, sleep trying to claim her even as she battled it off. _"Tell me a story, Merlin."_

"_But you've just heard one."_

"_Not one of _their_ stories. I don't want to hear them anymore."_ Anger was coming on in a lazy haze, but she pushed it away. She was too tired for it now._ "No, tell me something of yours. Remember the one you told me all those years ago? The first time we shared a bed?"_

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. _"I remember."_

She was fading. _"Tell me that one."_

He stroked her hand. _"Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a dragon who loved a princess. This princess lived all by herself, in a cottage woven with nature. She didn't have the crown or jewels or royal blood, but she was fairer than any he had ever laid eyes upon, and he loved her like he loved no living soul . . ."_

-:-

"_Don't look you enemies in the eye, son. If they can't see your eyes, they can't see your soul. And if they can't see your soul, then they can't break you. They can run a sword through your heart, they can shatter every bone in your body, but if they can't see your soul, they can't break your spirit." _

Balinor's advice, as usual, came back too late. From the second Merlin had been captured he'd let his guard down—first with Arthur of all people, then with Kay, and finally with Leon. Why these people—his enemies—could attract him in this way was an infuriating enigma. Arthur was at the core of it, Merlin had decided. Arthur Pendragon, with his impossibly soul-filled eyes, who drew Merlin like no other. Merlin wished he knew _why_.

But there was only one more full day of riding; on the next the group would reach Camelot. Merlin couldn't afford affection towards any person of Camelot, soul-filled eyes or not. It just felt _wrong_, hating these people; he hated how wrong it felt. Merlin let his eyes wander to one of the knights in question. Kay was laughing with Leon, stroking the feathers of his falcon. The bird had been flying back and forth for the whole trip; probably sending messages to Camelot. It fit Kay, having a falcon for a pet. Merlin shook himself and tried to focus on the trek ahead. Mab whinnied softly, and the warlock ran his fingers through her mane. "I know girl. I know."

When the sun started to fade, the group stopped to camp. Leon began to start a fire; Kay helped the prisoners off their steeds. Merlin winced when the knight tried to chain him up. Kay frowned, and Merlin shifted uncomfortably as the knight took in his ragged appearance. Kay undid the chains with a sigh. "Not much point in keeping you in these. You could barely run a quarter league in this condition. Here," The knight moved Merlin closer to the now constructed fire. "You'll need all the warmth you can get."

Merlin knew he was staring, but he could barely get around the shock enough to force out his thanks. Kay chuckled and put a hand on the warlock's shoulder, before moving to untie Freya and Bruce. Percy's ropes were kept intact. _For good reason/_, Merlin thought wryly. He turned to the fire, wondering if he could lose himself in the wild dance of the flames. It would be easier, he thought, than dealing with his scrambled loyalties.

-:-

Percival growled as the ropes —_again_—cut deep into his skin. He could barely move like this, which, he supposed, was really the only way to keep him contained. He couldn't look at a single knight of Camelot without his vision turning red. They killed his comrades, his _brothers_, killed them all without a second thought. _Under a flag of peace!_ He wanted them dead, all of them, he wanted their broken bones in his hands and their blood on his sword. He cared not whether Sir Kay talked to Merlin like he was a normal human, the man had slain at least four warrior of Avalon alone; he cared not whether Leon brought the prisoners soup, the man had sliced through Nate's chest; he cared not whether Prince Arthur seemed more like a lost boy than the commander of murderers;_he cared not he cared not he cared not_.

Roasted fish roused Percival out of his half-slumber. He sat up and Sir Kay flopped gracelessly next to him. The knight held out a fillet to Percival. "Eat." Percival turned away, trying to push the roar out of his head. He saw the faces of the men murdered and was able to ignore the brief flash of hurt on Kay's face. After a few seconds of silence the man chuckled and shifted to a more comfortable position. "Not a talker then? Shame." Kay leant down to place the fish between them, and Percival saw it as the man's hair slid away from his neck—the scar. An ugly burn blotted the skin on the back of Kay's neck, and Percival suspected that it traveled down farther. A closer inspection of the man's face revealed that the burn snaked up his right cheek as well. Kay smiled sheepishly. "Magic, for all of its wonders, hasn't been kind to me in life."

Forgetting himself in a moment of pity, Percival leaned forward. "What happened?"

"It's quite the story," Kay warned. Percival took the fish and with a shrug, Kay leaned back and began.

"My parents _were_ nobility, of course, Uther wouldn't have knighted me otherwise, but we were from a poorer region of Camelot, and I was very close to the people in the village by our castle. The laws of Camelot are laxer near the borders, and my parents never agreed with some of Uther's laws, so we had a druid tribe living with us." Percival choked on his fish and Kay laughed. "A little unbelievable, isn't it? Anyway, things were going alright for a while, but then—" Kay looked about to say something and then caught himself. "Then I came to squiring age, and I was sent to live in Camelot. That's where I met Leon and Arthur. I had only been there for a few months when I received word that my parents were dead." Percival inhaled sharply, and before he could hold it back, pity flooded him for the man in front of him. Kay swallowed, his expression dark. "A tribe of dark druids had disguised themselves and infiltrated our lands. They killed my parents as revenge for Uther. They called it justice," Kay spat. "It was murder. They burned everything, the crops, the buildings . . . and the people. Sixty-seven dead by the end of the night.

Of course, I sought revenge. Leon tried to stop me, but I snuck out in the night and rode for home. The rage I felt when I saw the destruction . . . it was like nothing I have ever felt. I traced the druids for weeks before I finally found them." Kay choked out a laugh. "I don't know what I was thinking. I was no match for any of them. To this day I have no idea why they let me live, but they made sure I returned with a souvenirs from my travels."

After a moment of silence, Percival found his voice. "Why are you telling me this?" Kay sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted. "You seem like a good enough man to tell it to."

"If this is true," Percival asked. "If even after all of that you still don't blame magic, then why are you fighting for Camelot? Why did you attack us?"

Kay hesitated. If he ever intended to answer, or answer truthfully, Percival would never know. In the time between Percival's question and Kay's answer, a twig snapped. Kay was instantly alert, and the man had both daggers drawn before Percival realized what was happening. Suddenly Kay threw the dagger at a bush by Arthur. There was a grunt of pain, a choking noise, and a man fell out, Kay's dagger buried in his chest. The knights all stared at the body, blood pooling from his wound. Then all hell broke loose.

"_Bandits_!" No sooner had the cry went out then a hoard of men burst through the clearing, falling on the knights faster then they could draw their swords. Kay rolled to retrieve his dagger and was quickly lost in the clashing of steel. Percival watched the battle in stunned silence before leaping into action. Struggling to his knees he fell forward, rolling under brawling men and trying desperately to reach the others. He may been tied up like a pig and stripped of his sword but he was still a knight of New Avalon, and he would reach protect his prince to the last breath.

A body fell beside him, and Percival allowed himself a moment's pause before he was cutting his ropes on the dead man's axe. The steel, blunt as it was, tore through the rope like a knife through butter; Percival snapped the ropes with a grunt and seized the fallen man's sword. The first bandit he met fell with a cry; the first knight met a similar fate, and Percival soon found himself on the outskirts of the skirmish. After a few seconds of frantic searching, he located Bruce and Freya making their way around the battle as well, having made an escape similar to his own. They would be safe, Percy knew, and his mind quickly turned to one thought and one thought alone—_Merlin_.

-:-

Maybe it hadn't been the best idea to go crawling straight into the skirmish. But when the bandits attacked, Merlin's overwhelmed, pain-addled brain had picked the fastest path away from the bandit dueling Arthur; if that path just happened to lead him to more bandits, was it really his fault? Merlin rolled to the side as another bandit fell on a knight's sword. The shackles on his wrists burned as he did so, and the warlock bit back a cry. Through hazed vision he spotted Freya and Bruce making their escape.

_Good_.

Merlin doubted that he would be so lucky. His vision was darkening with every desperate lunge for freedom, and he had to keep stopping so he wouldn't pass out. As would be expected, taking breaks on a battlefield wasn't buying him any favors. Merlin hoped that if he didn't make it the others at least would get away. He had the sinking feeling that they wouldn't leave without him. It was foolish, selfish, and dangerous of them, and it was exactly what he would do. So he couldn't give up. He _had_ to get away, for their sake, if not for his own.

Sweat fell into Merlin's eyes and he blinked it away, trying not to panic as his vision blurred as well as darkened. But even through such faulty lenses, he could see that he was almost there. Just a few more feet and he would be to safety, to freedom.

Years later he would wonder why he didn't take the chance. Perhaps it had been fate, perhaps destiny. Perhaps it was something even deeper, something found in the soul. Whether he regretted the decision or not, that was a difficult thing to tell. But the choice had been made, for better or worse, and if there's one rule life enforces with a will of iron it's that we live with our choices. And this choice; it changed his life forever.

Merlin felt the archer before he saw it. Something in his heart jumped, something in his soul screamed. The warlock turned his head to the left, and there it was—a bandit, hidden by the shadows, with an arrow pointed at Arthur Pendragon's back.

He could've run for his life. He could've crawled into that bush; let an unknown archer singlehandedly take out one of Magic's greatest foes. But something in Merlin's soul protested the action with such a tremendous force of will that he was suddenly on his feet, running at the archer even as his head spun. The bandit pulled back the string.

"_NO_!" The shriek tore through the clearing, and Arthur turned just in time to see the son of his enemy tackling his assassin to the ground, the arrow that almost destroyed a prophecy thudding into a tree two feet from Arthur's head. Behind him, Kay felled the last standing bandit with a cry, but Arthur had eyes only for the prisoner across the clearing, who currently had the archer in a death-grip. Merlin twisted his chained arms around the archer's neck and pulled, paying no heed to the man's dying gasps. Arthur watched in horror as the warlock strangled the bandit with a fierce determination. Finally the man fell still. With a crazed kind of triumph, Merlin dropped his hands, and met Arthur's eyes. The warlock's arms were shaking. There was something in those blue orbs, something that stirred his soul so tremendously; Arthur couldn't tear his gaze away. He realized that he was crying.

Then Merlin's eyes glazed over and he dropped to the ground.

_Kay had gone off to offer food to Percival, which Merlin doubted was the best decision; the knight was taking Nathan's death very hard. The warlock glanced over at Arthur, who was sharpening his sword by the firelight. A question had been building inside Merlin's chest for a while now, one he was a little wary to ask. He had realized lately that he although he had been taught for years about Camelot; he knew little of the minds of its people. Merlin had to admit he was curious. It seemed he and Arthur had this in common; the prince knew little of magic users, but Merlin recognized the wary attraction in Arthur's eyes. Merlin swallowed his fear and forced himself to speak. "What is it about sorcerers anyway? Why does your kingdom hate us so much?_

_Arthur looked up in surprise, and his eyes darkened. "Magic has caused a lot of destruction in Camelot." Arthur gazed into the fire, and there was a deadness in his face that surprised Merlin. "A lot of people have died."_

_Merlin chewed on this for a while. "But a lot of sorcerers have died, too."_

"_I know."_

_There was no hesitation in the answer, and Merlin found himself once again re-evaluating his opinion of Camelot's prince. He chose his words carefully before replying. "Have you ever thought about the power of desperation?"_

"_What?"_

_Merlin took a deep breath. "If you pushed someone over and over, made them live in fear, killed their family, don't you think they would eventually strike back? Have you thought about the desperate father, terrified for his family? Or the wrathful mother, wrecked after her child's death? Or perhaps the orphan who has been twisted by circumstance?"_

_Arthur didn't say anything, just stared into the fire, hands working the sword like a prayer. _

_Merlin waited for a few moments, before deciding it safe to go on. "Think about magic . . . like . . . like a sword." That was good. "It's all about the person who uses it. What kind of person is likely to use a sword? To _abuse_ it?" Arthur frowned, and Merlin took that as a signal to keep going. "And what if swordfighting was banned on pain of death? And then you were stuck with this thing inside of you, with nowhere to put it. If you were a decent person, a person who didn't want anyone to get hurt, you would hide it forever."_

_At this Arthur spoke. "But you can choose to not practice magic!"_

"_I was _born_ with it, Arthur," Merlin stated calmly. "So was Freya." Arthur's eyes widened._

_Merlin cleared his throat. "So if all the good swordfighters were in hiding, why would Camelot still get attacked?" He sighed. "People are people, Arthur. I don't know their intensions—fear, anger, pure evil perhaps—but hostiles are always mixed in with peace-bringers. But then . . . the evil swordfighters would be the only swordfighters Camelot ever saw. It's only natural that your people would make . . . assumptions."_

_Arthur was reticent. Finally he spoke. "What are you trying to do?"_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_I just . . ." Arthur sighed. "I don't understand why you're telling he this."_

"_Well . . . " Merlin laughed softly. "I guess I haven't given up on you just yet. You're not a lost cause."_

_Arthur frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_I don't really know . . . prophecies," Merlin mumbled, "and stuff . . ."_

"_There are prophecies about me?"_

"_Maybe. Depends on who you are." Merlin tried not to laugh at the look on Arthur's face. "But . . . yeah, yeah there are."_

"_Why would you even try? Give me a chance, after everything I've done?" Merlin sighed, and Arthur seemed to regret asking the question. "Forget it."_

"_No . . . it's just . . ." The warlock ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not sure myself. You killed my men. I've been raised to hate you. Every bone in my body should reject you. And yet . . ." He looked up Arthur. "There's something about you, Arthur Pendragon, something that gives me hope. "Hope for us all."_

-:-

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